


I feel you in the wind chill (and it's so real, straight through my bones)

by LiviKate



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Protective Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: He was so fucking scared, but he was also getting pissed. Pissed at this fucking ghost, pissed at himself, and pissed at Shane for not being smart enough to save his own goddamn life.Or in which a ghost wants to eat Shane and Ryan doesn't think it's very funny.





	I feel you in the wind chill (and it's so real, straight through my bones)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ease My Mind by Hayley Kiyoko

Ryan couldn’t begin to explain how much he didn’t want to be here. Not only was there the humid thick air of evil, but there was the extra weight of eyes in every shadow. This wasn’t just bad vibes. This was a maw, and Shane kept pushing him to crawl deeper and deeper.

“Who’s ready for the maid’s quarters?” Shane said in his ghoulish and spooky voice, wiggling his body in a caricature ghostliness.

“Shut the fuck up, Shane,” Ryan snapped. He knew this would be yet another episode where they got hundreds of comments about how mean Ryan was to Shane, and teens wondering if the boys were feuding. No one ever seemed concerned that Shane was incredibly mean to Ryan on these cases; locations where every shift in the air felt like a phantom hand reaching for him and all Shane did to help was make fun of him. No one thought that was mean because that was the format. Shane was the character that begrudging listened to ghost stories and then mocked anyone who might believe in them. Ryan was the stupid fucking idiot that booked them plane tickets to some of the most dangerous locations on earth.

“I really don’t wanna do this, man,” Ryan said, flicking his flashlight around the doorway. He had a pit in his stomach, deeper than dread. He hadn’t felt safe since the sun went down. This wasn’t the most rundown place they’d ever been, but it was no Hotel Dauphine. The floors creaked and there were twenty coats of paint on every surface but there weren’t any spiderwebs clogging the crooked corners of the walls. It could’ve been covered in slime, the presence Ryan felt was so sickly and dark. He said that at the top of filming and Shane had thrown his head back and laughed.

“Don’t worry, Ryan, what’s the worst an old maid can do to you?” Shane said, lounging too casually against the doorframe. “Tickle you with her duster?”

Ryan looked at his partner incredulously.

“They murdered the family and pulled out their eyeballs! They tried to cook them!”

“Ehh, the past is the past,” Shane shrugged, dismissing Ryan’s fears like it was a fly in the air. “They were probably just hungry. Pretty sure there was a famine or something going around back then.”

“You’re the fucking worst, and I hope you die,” Ryan said without heat, too busy inspecting every shadow, trying to find the eyes he felt on him. He leaned his head into the doorway, inspecting the empty room, straining his ears to catch any noise.

“Yeah, yeah, in you go,” Shane said with a hand on his back nudging him into the room. He took a few reluctant steps until he was in the center of the small bedroom. “We’re closing the door,” Shane said, as he did just that, and Ryan stared at the wedge of light on the floor as if got smaller and smaller until it was completely extinguished. “You gonna use your little demon jukebox?” He asked through the door.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryan said, not caring that his voice was shaking. All of him was shaking. The footage of his sweaty face would be terrible. He swallowed hard and wiped his hand on his jeans before grabbing the spirit box.

“Of course you will,” Shane sighed. “I’m gonna wait down the hall then.”

“Don’t go too far,” Ryan pleaded, his grip tightening on his instruments as he spun in a slow and nervous circle in the darkness. He shined his flashlight over the recreation of the sisters’ room. A small bed they both shared, where they were found after the murders, a wash basin that had been filled with blood, and an old fashioned mirror that hadn’t been cleaned in decades. Ryan was sure he could see handprints in the dirt covering the glass. He took a deep breath and turned his flashlight off.

“Here it goes,” he murmured to himself and the camera, before turning on the piercing shriek of the spirit box. He let it scream for a few moments as he gathered his courage before posing his first question. “Is there anyone here?”

No distinguishable answer, only static and fractured syllables.

“Hello, is there anyone who wants to talk to me?” Ryan asked, raising his voice over the din of the radio. “I just want to talk. Any spirits here who might know about the murders that happened here? Anyone who might have been around in the 1930s?” He was dancing around the question. He didn’t want to ask if the sisters were there, watching him. He didn’t want to think about the spirits of their victims, staring out of the shadows with empty sockets where their eyes should have been.

“ _Zzz— sscared_ ,” the spirit box buzzed in his hand and Ryan nearly dropped it. A nervous laugh popped from his lips as he whipped around in a tight circle in the middle of the dark room.

“Can you say that again?” He asked. “Did you say I was scared? Because I totally am. Really scared.”

“ _Don’t—-gahd— like— -z-cared_ ,” the box crackled back at him.

“You don’t like scared? Are you a nice ghost? Maybe the daughter? Did you used to live here?” Ryan asked, flickering his eyes of his camera mount.

The box buzzed and crackled for a few moments, long enough that Ryan had almost convinced himself it was his imagination, a voice that sounded like Shane telling him there wasn’t anything to be scared of.

“ _Scared taste bad_ ,” the box spoke suddenly, with a clarity and intention that sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine.

“What? What did you say?” He asked, voice nearly shouting. “Oh fuck oh fuck,” he whined to himself, hands cramping around the spirit box as his body threatened to shake itself apart. That hadn’t just been static. That had been a voice. A real and true voice, echoing through the vibrations of the radio.

“ _Tall one_ ,” the box cracked, making him jump. “ _Tall one not scared_.” It was so clear, it sounded so close, Ryan whipped around the room, scanning the walls, searching for something, anything.

“Shane? Are you talking about Shane?” Ryan asked, voice breaking.

“Yeah buddy?” He heard Shane call down the hall to him, voice nearly lost in the crackle of the air around him and the whirling if his own blood in his ears.

“Shut up Shane!” He yelled back, his words drawn high and tight with panic. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.

“You got three more minutes, then it’s my turn to play with the ghosties!”

“ _Good_ ,” the box buzzed. “ _Taste good. Want him_.”

“Shut the fuck up Shane!” Ryan screamed before stalking in another circle in the tight quarters of the room. “You stay away from him,” he pleaded to the box in his hands.

“ _So brave—- feels good— Kill Kill Kill_ ,” the box giggled through the static.

“No,” Ryan whispered, wide eyes staring out into the darkness around him. “No,” he said again, to himself, to the spirits, knowing what he wanted didn’t make a fucking difference.

He needed to get to Shane, to warn him, get him far away from here. If he just told him… Shane would think he was crazy. Ryan shook his head, _feeling_ crazy, imagining the piteous and amused look Shane would give him. He wouldn’t believe him. He’d laugh right in his face and walk into this room, daring whatever creature might be within to rip his fucking eyes out.

“ _Kill— tall— hun-ggry— no fear—eyes— bring him, bring him_ ,” the box chanted in his hands, the words popping out from the background of static, seemingly growing in strength. The room fell cold, like a window had opened and a frozen breath had blown in.

He was so fucking scared, but he was also getting pissed. Pissed at this fucking ghost, pissed at himself, and pissed at Shane for not being smart enough to save his own goddamn life.

“No, nope, fuck this,” Ryan said, resolutely. “Fuck this and fuck you, you can’t have him.”

He shut the box off and clicked his flashlight on. He nearly ran the five feet or so to the door and twisted the knob. It was locked from the outside, of course.

“One more minute, Ry, you can do it!” He heard Shane laughing from the other side of the house.

“Open this door right now or I will break it down,” Ryan shouted, fear and adrenaline raging through his blood, sure that for every second his back was turned to the room, something dark in there was solidifying.

“It’s cool, man, just a little longer,” Shane said, but Ryan could hear him coming closer.

“Open the door, Shane!” He barked kicking the door hard, hard enough that it cracked and rattled, a quiet shower of paint chips nearly lost in the sound of TJ cursing.

“Goddamn it Ryan, what the fuck?!” TJ asked as Shane pulled the door open with a shocked look on his face. “You could’ve broken that! They could sue us!”

“Doesn’t matter, we have to go now,” Ryan said, putting his hands against the doorway, keeping them from coming in. Shane looked over his shoulder, a goofy smile coming back over his face. The longer they stood here, at the threshold of certain death for a certain Bigfoot, Ryan felt sure that the shadows would start oozing out after him. His chest hurt, there was a tight pain in his lungs and ribs, and he knew if he stopped, something bad would happen. “Shane,” he said, locking his wild eyes on his friend. “You have to go right now.”

Shane was clearly thrown by Ryan’s intensity, he could tell by the tilt of his head and the concern in his eyes, but his posture was still relaxed and open and there was a jaunty smile on his lips.

“Hey now, baby, let’s take a breath,” he said, hands up, handheld camera trained on Ryan’s sweaty form he hurried to shove his equipment in his pockets. “What did the mean mean ghost say to you?” He teased.

Ryan thought about telling him. About warning him. ‘They want you, they told me so, they want to hurt you, I have to get you out right now.’ But he couldn’t say any of that.

 

“You won’t believe me,” he said, heart breaking the slightest amount, as much as it could spare to feel while it was still thundering under his skin. “But it doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you later and you can laugh at me then but seriously we need to move right now.”

“But it’s my turn in the murder chamber!” Shane said with mock petulance, like a child, a tall and stupid child who can’t read a goddamn room.

“You are _not_ going in there,” he said firmly, shoving Shane back far enough that he could push the door closed.  

“Oh my god, Ry, did you actually piss yourself in there?” Shane asked gleefully. “Is there a little “Bergara was Here” stain on the floor that you don’t want me to see?”

“I’m not fucking around,” Ryan growled, the prickle of eyes dancing on the back of his neck, like whatever was in there was seeing through the door. “You are not going in there, we are leaving right now.” He pushed Shane back another bigfoot-sized stride, ready to drag him out every step of the way if he had to. As long as he left. As long as he made it out.

Just then, the door Ryan had just closed swung open viciously, dust from the floor rising up from the swell of air, looking especially eerie in the beam of Shane’s light. It wasn’t a slow creak like in the movies, it was a slam, moving with enough force that when it clipped Ryan’s shoulder, he stumbled, yelping and lurching away as fast as he could, a scrambling grip on Shane’s arm dragging him along.

“Oh fuck, we have to go,” Ryan said, terrified of looking back, at seeing whatever bad Shane’s eyebrows raised and Mark’s camera trained behind them. He just kept moving, panic-fast and manic, guiding the group backwards down the hall.

“It was just a door, Ryan,” Shane laughed, dodging his next shove and trying to get around him. “There’s probably a window open in there.”

“There isn’t, we need to leave,” Ryan insisted, moments away from crying. His shoulder throbbed and he was so fucking scared. Scared for himself, for the crew, for this stupid fucking idiot that couldn’t see danger when it flung a door at him. He looked at Shane, wild and terrified, and knew that he would drop to his knees and beg if he thought it would get him out of this house. But the slightly sympathetic and mostly mocking smile on his face knew that it wouldn’t help.

“Let me just go take a look,” he said, not unkindly, long legs starting him back down the hallway, and Ryan came to the sudden and certain realization that if he stepped into that room, he wouldn’t make it out the same.

“Fuck this,” he growled, desperate and scared and so fucking angry. Without taking another second to think about it, Ryan ducked in front of him, put his shoulder against his hips and heaved.

Shane went airborne with a squawk and a wild flail, and Ryan felt his chest mount dig painfully into his ribs, but he didn’t falter in his step and he started hurrying down the hallway.

“Come on!” He shouted back to the crew, over Shane’s indignant cries and surprised laughter. “You’re such a piece of shit, Shane,” Ryan grumbled. “You don’t believe me, you don’t respect the danger we put ourselves in.” The stairs were a little hard to navigate, as Shane shot out his stupid long spider limbs and grabbed onto the bannister. Ryan growled at him to stop being a stubborn fucking idiot and released one of his hands from his grip around his thighs to reach back and grab Shane’s wrist, breaking his hold and nearly sprinting down the rest of the stairs. It made his shoulder scream and Shane groan with every bounce but Ryan didn’t give a single fuck. All Ryan cared about was getting them out of this house before they were devoured. And stupid Shane wasn’t making it any easier for him. “And now I’ve got to save your narrow ass because you don’t fucking trust me.”

He didn’t stop there at the bottom of the stairs. The crew were following them down, Shane would have to physically fight him to go back up there, Ryan could’ve stopped to explain himself. He didn’t. Mixed with the rush of blood pounding through his head and the sounds of the living shouting at him, he could swear that he heard the dead cursing him too. Liquid syllables and choppy static pulsed through the shadows as Ryan pushed his way out of the house, out of the oppressive fog of death and hunger that hung in the air and drug over his skin.

He tuned out everything but his own footsteps as he neared the front door. He prayed it was unlocked, needing fresh air and safety, craving the night sky and the sight of their vehicles parked on the street.

The door was unlocked, and Shane’s kicking feet pushed it open for the both of them. Ryan nearly fell down the porch steps, knees suddenly weak from relief. He stumbled across the lawn, unsteady enough that for the first time all night, Shane’s cries were pitched with genuine nerves.

He got to the cars, breathing hard and still so fucking scared, and swung Shane down between him and the passenger side door, slamming him unkindly against the car.

“Wow, Bergara, first, I’d like to start with, what the fuck?” Shane said, catching himself against the car and Ryan’s bruises shoulder, one ankle twisting off the curb in his awkward return to earth.

“Shut up,” Ryan said, hands against his chest, feeling him alive and well, lungs swelling while and complete under his sweater. “Just shut up.”

For once, Shane listened. When Ryan looked up at him, he was staring back at him with equal parts fear and surprise.

“Please,” Ryan begged, voice breaking. “Just get in the car.”

“Ryan, what is going on?” Shane asked, gentle and quiet as his brows drug down seriously.

“Just get in the car,” Ryan whined, before turned around to do a head count as the rest of the crew made it out of the house.

“What’s the plan Ryan?” TJ asked exasperatedly.

“Hotel,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, looking back at the house that looked so normal on the outside, like their wasn’t a spirit inside that wanted them all dead. “We’re not going back in there.”

“We only got one room,” TJ sighed, always pissed went a shoot went off the rails.

“I’ll sleep on the fucking floor, I don’t care,” Ryan screamed back at him. “But no one is going back in that fucking house.”

“Hey, Ryan, how about you stay here in the car with Mark, and the rest of us poke around and finish the shoot?” Devon suggested, kindly placing a hand on his arm like he was a wild animal she had to tame.

“Look,” he said, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself as much as possible. “No one is going back in that house. This shoot is over. We are leaving right now.”

Devon blinked at him for a second before turning to look at TJ. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Let’s go then,” he grumbled, and Ryan couldn’t give a single shit that he was pissed. He was alive and he didn’t even know he should be grateful for it. That being said, though, that fucking demon, creature, _whatever it was,_ had only asked for Shane.

He looked back at his cohost, who was regarding Ryan with honest concern and the slightest bit of fear. Ryan swallowed down the urge to punch him in the face, for being afraid of him, of all things.

“Please, Shane,” he said quietly and simply. “Get in the car.” After a moment longer of staring at him, Shane did, silently moving in the cramped space between Ryan’s chest and the vehicle to pull the door open and collect all his limbs inside. Ryan shut the door for him, taking a second to lean his forehead against the top of the car and breathe.

He heard the window roll down and braced himself for some obnoxious comment. Instead, Shane just reached out and poked his tummy with a single finger.

“Let’s go, ghoulfriend,” he said, his voice suspiciously soft. Ryan sighed and started moving again.

 

The rush of fear and fury had drained by the time they made it to the hotel. Shane tried to vlog a little with his handheld in the car over, attempting to pull Ryan into some banter for the fans, trying to scrape together a way to save the episode. Ryan appreciated it. But he couldn’t play along. He said nothing, stared straight again and focused on driving and breathing.

Ryan slumped into an overly plush foyer couch as Devon and TJ tried to get an extra room at 3 in the morning. Mark sat down next to him, Shane on the other side, and they stared at the artificial flowers in an ugly vase in front of them.

“So, what happened?” Mark asked. “You lost your shit.”

Shane stretched his arm across the back of the couch and smacked Mark upside the head. Then he left his arm there, curling around Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan didn’t say anything to either of them. He just closed his eyes and told himself the worst was behind them. He found it hard to believe but he tried anyway.

TJ ambled over to them and tossed a pair of room keys into their laps, telling them he didn’t want to hear any bitching about the single bed, it was all they had available. Shane made a kind of quip that earned a tired chuckle from him and Mark. Ryan wasn’t paying attention. All he could do was stare straight ahead of him and count his breaths, or he was going to spiral right down into panicking again.

“Hey, man, I’m not mad,” Teej said, taking his silence for anger, leaning down to clap a hand down on Ryan’s shoulder. He flinched back, hissing, and was reminded that where the door hit him was still hot and painful.

“What the fuck?” he murmured to himself, dragging his shirt to the side, trying to see the back of his shoulder.

“Oh shit,” Shane said, reaching with the arm already around his back to pull his collar aside. Mark sucked a sympathetic breath and whistled. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“Still think it was the wind?” Ryan said, in a voice that was too hollow to be funny, craning his neck to try to see it himself.

“I’m pretty sure wind strong enough to do that would have to be part of a pretty bad storm,” Devon said, looking from Ryan’s shoulder to the clear night outside. Maybe he’d make a Boogara out of her yet.

“We need ice and sleep,” Shane said firmly, unfolding himself from the couch and pulling Ryan up with him. “Let’s go. We’ll meet for breakfast tomorrow?”

The elevator ride was mostly silent, and they parted ways with murmured good wishes. Ryan was still feeling drained and exhausted from the night, but mustered enough good will for his friends to give them a tired smile as they headed off to their room.

“You okay, Ry?” Shane asked as the door closed behind them. And Ryan wanted to tell him. Wanted to sit down and explain. How scary it was, how close it was, how much Ryan wanted to never feel like that again. But even in his thoughts the undercurrent of Shane’s disbelief was strong enough to pull him under.

So he just shook his head. He unclipped his chest mount, dropped it on the bed and headed straight for the bathroom.

Standing in the shower, water running over him and the bright fluorescent lights on and buzzing, Ryan has the panic attack that he’d been barely holding at bay. The fear and the anger and the impotence all circle around him like he was the drain and all he could do was lean against the tiles and try to breathe through it.

He was tired. It was late. He was empty emotionally and crashing hard. He toweled off, looking in the mirror to see the mark on his shoulder blade and upper arm, bright red and purple in the middle.

He emerged to hear the muted roar of the spirit box playing through the GoPro. Shane was sitting on the bed, cross-legged and wide eyed. He looked up at Ryan with an open mouth and disbelief on his face.

“Save it,” he said tiredly, rifling through his back for shorts. He pulled them on under his towel and then used it to scrub through his hair, hiding his face from whatever Shane would inevitably say.

“Thank you,” was what he heard, and Ryan’s head snapped up. Shane was still sitting there, staring at the minuscule screen, looking deceptively small, limbs bent up underneath him on the big bed.

Ryan dropped the towel and swallowed hard.

“You heard it,” he said, throat clicking and mouth dry. “You know what it said. What it wanted to do.”

“I know what you heard,” Shane said carefully, so fucking carefully.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan cursed balled hands pressing against his eyes, turning away from his friend.

“No, Ryan, wait,” Shane said, awkwardly unfolding himself and taking a lurching step towards him. Ryan glared at him with so much frustration and hurt, so much of him just begging for what he knew was impossible. “Hey,” Shane said, his hands coming up to rest gently on his arms. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, or crazy, or stupid.”

“How can you _still not_ —” Ryan began, voice too sharp for so late at night, his head beginning to ache.

“I don’t know what that was,” Shane said, cutting him of. “I’m not going to pretend to know what it was, but it could’ve been anything.” Ryan tried to shake out of his grip but he held him still. “But,” he said seriously, stopping to force eye contact. “I know what you heard. I know why you went crazy trying to get all of us, _me_ , out of there. So thank you.”

The last reservoir of strength or pride left after a brutal night finally drained and Ryan sagged in his grip. Shane folded him into a hug, and he was shirtless and it was abnormally intimate for them, but it didn’t feel weird. It felt like a wave of relief. Ryan knitted his fingers in the back of his sweater and held on tight.

“I wasn’t gonna let it get you,” Ryan mumbled into his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” Shane said, lips brushing the top of his head as he spoke and for once Ryan didn’t bristle at the nickname. “You really stuck it to those ghosties. Thank you.”

Part of him was aware that Shane could be humoring him, coddling him, going along with it to make him feel better. But he was too tired to care, and too grateful to be safe and alive with this person.

“Fuck, I’m definitely gonna have nightmare,” He groaned, making no effort to untangle himself from their hug.

“Me too” Shane said, being the one to pull away. “Nightmares of you dropping me on my head down those nasty stairs.” Ryan wheezed and felt a little more like himself. They separated, brushing teeth and washing their faces. Shane pulled himself into his pajamas while Ryan got in on his side of the bed. The light clicked off and Ryan followed Shane’s silhouette with his eyes as he made his way to the bed. When he crawled in, he settled too far into the middle, closer than he would’ve before. Ryan didn’t mention it, just watched carefully in the faint light of the new morning. Shane stared back for a few silent seconds, before opening his arms to him.

Ryan hesitated for a brief second, before the staticy voice of the spirit box played again in his head, telling him that Shane was brave and that it was delicious. He decided he could be brave too.

He wriggled closer, meeting Shane in the middle and wrapping around him, holding him close, pulling him in against his chest.

“I got you,” he said, voice shaking, even still.

“I know you do,” Shane murmured, twisting around in his grip until he was comfortable. Relaxed, half lying across Ryan’s chest, his breathing deepened. When he was asleep, Ryan risked putting a hand in his hair, holding him there. Close and safe.

“He’s mine,” he whispered to the darkness clinging to the corners of the room and the inside of his mind. “He’s mine.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, leave a comment and talk to me about the boys.


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